Even Better
by DrummerWench
Summary: Sam finds hand-making to be most compelling.


**Even Better**

The final Charter mark slid into the last joint. Sameth closed his eyes and slumped over the gold-washed gauntlet on his worktable.

After a minute, he dipped into the Charter—it was well after midnight. He'd so wanted to finish by dinner, or at least before Lirael went to bed. _I'll just have to give it to her at breakfast._

He brushed his fingers over those of the gauntlet, feeling the marks infusing the scales and hinges, rods and wires he'd scavenged from various earlier creations. It would _work_ , he knew. If only it weren't so … so _clunky_.

Just for a moment, he rested his head on the table, only to awake some time later and stumble to bed. Then, of course, he missed breakfast as well, not re-awaking until mid-morning.

The sendings brought him some golden-starred, silver-keyed silk and a bit of gold ribbon; he wrapped and tied the gauntlet, and set it at her place on the long table in the hall. Suddenly, his hands seemed damp and his collar too tight. What if she thought it presumptuous or even offensive? Too late now, her footsteps sounded coming down the stairs. He stood behind his regular chair.

"Sam! You're up! I worried when I didn't see you at dinner last night or this mor…", Lirael broke off. "What's this?"

"I, uh, it's for you. I made it. I hope you like it."

Lirael braced the package with the stump of her right arm, untying the ribbon with her left hand, showing unexpected dexterity. The folds of silk parted, revealing the glinting gauntlet. She started back, almost recoiling.

Sam's heart sank.

Then she leaned forward, touching it carefully with her forefinger, her eyes unfocused, clearly seeing into the Charter, and the marks with which he'd filled it.

"This is … amazing, Sam," she said, picking it up. "Do I just, uh, put it on?" She turned it over, looking into the socket above the wrist.

Sam hastened around the table. "Basically," he said. "You have to activate it with Charter marks. While you're putting it on, send marks down your arm into the fingers, as if they're your own. And they will be." He sketched glowing marks in the air.

Lirael studied them, then slid the gauntlet onto her right arm.

Sam watched the marks flowing down her skin into it, warming and activating the marks infusing it. The fingers twitched.

Lirael brought her arm up, examining the gauntlet. The hand opened and closed. She touched it with her left hand.

"I can feel with it!" She scrabbled at her place setting, managing to pick up and set down the knife. She hesitated, then reached for the wine glass. The gold-scaled fingers closed slowly about the crystal and lifted it.

Sam let out his breath. "It worked! It really worked! It should do, well, some things. Not everything. This is only the first one; the next one will be better, I promise."

Lirael set the glass on the table. "This is _wonderful_! It's been so hard, but I didn't want to complain. So many others have such worse problems." She flexed the hand, examining it closely on both sides.

"It seems so … inadequate to just say, Thank You," she said. "I know you're a Wallmaker, and you, well, _make_ things, but I never expected anything like this! Thank you, Sam."

"After all you've done, it's the least … I'm just happy I could do _something_ ," said Sameth.

"You'll have to keep working on left-handed swordplay," he continued. "It's not quite up to things as heavy as swords or …"

"Or tennis rackets?" She glanced up from the hand, a wry smile showing. "Ellimere wants to teach me to play tennis when I get to Belisaere."

"You'll have to start with your left hand, I'm afraid," replied Sameth.

"When did you have time for this?" asked Lirael. "You've been so busy with the Southerners' settlement."

"Late at night; once I got started, I couldn't stop. I _had_ to keep working on it."

.'.'.'.

The next hand was easier, because he'd learned so much from the first one, but harder, or at least more tedious, due to the many tiny golden rings he was assembling as a skin over the metal skeleton. He could only do a limited number before his eyes refused to focus on them. Once again, he labored during the evening, and late into the night, spinning Charter marks into the fine mesh.

During the day, he and Mogget, _that is, Yrael_ , he reminded himself, worked on the plans for Yrael's fishing cottage in the Ratterlin Delta. Lirael had left for Belisaere to train with Sabriel and learn tennis from Ellimere.

Messages came and went between the capital and Abhorsen's House frequently by hawk, less so by physical letters. When Lirael's letter to Nick arrived, he added a letter of his own along with a small Charter-spelled dagger, and sent the package on to Ancelstierre.

Some weeks later, he sent a note back to Lirael that the new hand was almost done; he was surprised that she came herself within a few days, spiraling down in a blue and silver Paperwing.

"We had a message from the Clayr that Sabriel or I should be near the Wall, though they weren't clear on why or for how long, so I said I'd come, especially since my new hand is here," she explained as they entered the Hall.

Sameth ran to his workroom for the hand, which he'd indeed finished two nights earlier. Lirael followed, pausing in the doorway; he waved her in.

Lirael sent the Charter marks of disengaging down her arm to the gauntlet. She caught it in her left hand as it came away.

Sam exchanged it for the glove he'd unwrapped.

She placed the glove on her arm, with the marks Sam had shown her, and laughed delightedly as it moved and turned. "It's even better than the old one! It feels so … strong. But it's delicate, too." She moved about the workshop, touching glassware, leafing through books, seizing a chair and lifting it.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! I am so lucky to have you for a nephew!"

Sam's ears warmed, and he ducked his head. "I, uh, you're welcome! And it _is_ more useful than a mosquito-eater."

"You didn't dismantle the frog for it, did you?"

"Not for that one. I used parts of it in the first one." Sam hefted the gauntlet and set it on the table. "You should be able to wield a sword again with the new hand."

"At least, better than with my left hand! Do you want to spar?"

So they went up to the _salle des armes_ , where they were more or less evenly matched, for Sam had not practiced much lately, and Lirael had been working left-handed. By dinnertime, both were winded and ready to eat.

During dinner, Sam kept his eye on the golden hand, watching the Charter marks play across the surface, as Lirael used it without hesitation, cutting her food and lifting her glass with ease.

"You know," he said, "when I was working with the Southerners, helping them get settled, I watched some of the ladies knitting scarves and sweaters. I bet I could make a skin for your next hand with knitting. It's going to be even better!"

.'.'.'.

Eventually, Lirael got used to Sam making her an even better hand every year or two.

 **End**


End file.
